


all the places in between

by windupbirdgirl



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (sort of), Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, From episode 8 to post-episode 12, I loved seeing how their relationship changed each episode, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:25:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9106546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windupbirdgirl/pseuds/windupbirdgirl
Summary: Viktor couldn’t see Yuuri’s face, but he could imagine the slight blush dusting his cheeks and nose. He could imagine how loose strands of hair were falling into those brown eyes. Yuuri’s delicate fingers reached his belt, and-Viktor closed his eyes.





	

 

It’s crowded in the hotel restaurant, as various groups of competitors and tourists alike pile inside to escape the cold. Viktor scans the room for an empty table, nudging Yuuri when he sees Yurio and Yakov sitting alone by a window.

“Are you sure they’re not waiting for anyone else?" Yuuri asked, his voice louder than usual as he leans up against Viktor, squinting over the crowd.

Viktor smiled as they wound their way between tables, Yuuri in tow behind him. “Yurio and Yakov aren’t exactly renowned for their amazing hospitality, I think we’ll be safe.”

Yuuri laughed softly, withdrawing his hand from Viktor’s sleeve as they came into Yakov’s field of vision.

“Good evening, Yakov, Yurio!” greeted Viktor cheerfully, pulling out a chair for Yuuri, who sat down gratefully and began trying in vain to wipe the steam from his glasses. Yurio was too preoccupied with his phone to notice, but Yakov watched with a raised eyebrow and a narrow expression that Viktor chose to ignore.

“Yurio, I hope tomorrow I’ll see how much you’ve refined your performance since your contest with Yuuri!” Viktor says, picking up a menu.

Yurio grunted. “Yeah, obviously. I haven’t been waking up at five every morning for the fun of it.” He put his phone down, his features scrunched into a scowl. Yakov shuts his menu sharply.

“And as I keep telling you, if you want to win you have to work harder than anybody else, Yura. Isn’t that right?” He barks the last part at Yuuri, who startles, eyes wide.

“Y-yes, definitely.” He stumbled, and Yakov gave an approving sniff.

A waitress arrives to take their orders; the atmosphere in the restaurant grows quiet and slow. The snow outside grows heavier, light from the moon turning the world blue. It’s nearly 11 o’clock, and Yuuri’s eyes keep closing over his bowl of soup, his hair mussed in all directions. Viktor feels something swell in his chest, big and loud and aching. He must have been staring, because suddenly Yuuri is smiling at him softly, his fingers finding Viktor’s under the safety of the tablecloth. They stay like this for the remainder of the meal, Yurio ranting about the other competitors and Viktor laughing at Yakov when he spills wine down his suit.

By midnight, Yuuri is yawning every ten seconds (Yurio every five) so Viktor decides to call it a night. They had an even longer day ahead of them, after all, and Viktor certainly didn’t want a repeat of Yuuri’s exhaustion at the Cup of China. He detached his hand from Yuuri’s and stood up, “Goodnight Yakov. We’ll see you tomorrow.” As an afterthought, he added “Yurio, be sure to get enough beauty sleep!” Yurio prickled and Viktor tried to hide his grin.

Back in their hotel room it was cold and dark, the window wide open to let snow gather on the windowsill. Yuuri leaned out in wonder, eyes mirroring the blurred cityscape beneath them. Viktor lay in bed, scrolling through his feed mindlessly. He shivered.

“Shut the window now, Yuuri.” He shut off his phone, propping himself up on his elbows. “You should really get some sleep.”

Yuuri didn’t reply, and for a second Viktor thought he was ignoring him. Then he shut the window and the room was suddenly small and very quiet. Yuuri’s breathing was distinct in the heavy silence, and Viktor could sense him shifting away from the outside world and towards him.

“I’m going to get changed now.” Yuuri’s voice was even and measured, but Viktor could hear an edge to his voice that only appeared before competitions or in the dark hours after a bad day of practice.

Viktor was still on his phone, but not really. He watched as Yuuri pulled his jumper off and over his head, the shirt underneath hitched up around his ribs. Yuuri seemed to unbutton his shirt with excessive slowness, the muted rustle of fabric amplified in Viktor’s ears until the shirt was gathered around Yuuri’s waist. The pale moonlight framed the curve of his spine and hips. Viktor couldn’t see Yuuri’s face, but he could imagine the slight blush dusting his cheeks and nose. He could imagine how loose strands of hair were falling into those brown eyes. Yuuri’s delicate fingers reached his belt, and-

Viktor closed his eyes.

To his slight disappointment, by the time he’d opened them again, Yuuri was fully clothed and lying in the bed across from Viktor’s. His hair fell over the pillow, and one of his legs was thrown over the duvet; he looked up from his phone to catch Viktor staring for the second time that evening.

“What is it?” Yuuri’s voice was languid and tired, lilting slightly over the English syllables.

“Nothing much. Goodnight, Yuuri.”

“’Night.” Yuuri mumbles in Japanese.

* * *

 

A ten-hour flight can seem even longer when you spend most of it inside your own head.

Viktor knew he wasn’t going to sleep from the moment he bought his ticket; his hands were still cold inside his fleece-lined coat pocket, and he shook his head with a smile when a concerned hostess asked if he wanted something to drink. He paid for in-flight Wi-Fi, opened Yuuri’s contact details, and his thumb hovered over the green ‘Call’ icon before thinking better of it. Yuuri would be asleep by now.

The plane was so pin-drop quiet it could’ve been empty. In the row in front of him, a baby’s soft cries were accompanied by the hushed voice of their mother. In the vast darkness outside, a yellow glow bowed over the horizon. Viktor thumbed through his album of Makkachin, pausing on one particular photo. Yuuri curled up on a duvet, pressing his face into Makkachin’s fur. Viktor crops it, doodles hearts over both subjects and sets it as his wallpaper.

Yuuri will be performing, without him, in less than twelve hours. Viktor has absolute faith in him.

* * *

 

They waited for a taxi, holding hands behind Yuuri’s suitcase.  It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning.

“I’m sure there’ll be one soon,” Viktor ventured, maybe a bit too optimistically. “I managed to get one from the station earlier.”

“That was nearly six hours ago,” Yuuri pointed out, his nose bright red above the white mask. “My hands are cold.” After a slightly hysterical search for Yuuri’s luggage and a much needed coffee, they’d found the airport deserted, save for a few people sleeping awkwardly over the arms of threadbare chairs.

“Sorry.” Apologised Viktor, meaning it. “I didn’t think to book one,” Pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek, “I was too excited to see you.” Which was partly true (worry and exhaustion had been a bigger factor.) “Forgive me?” He bent down further, kissing Yuuri’s lips quickly over the fabric of the mask.

Yuuri pulled a face, his blush especially obvious against the stark white material. “That felt funny.”

“Funny in a good way?”

“I can’t tell. You’d have to do it again- taxi!” Yuuri jerks away to gesture wildly at a car in the distance.

Viktor puts his hand over his chest as the taxi rolls up beside them. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

“It’s still November, Vitya,”

“It’s a Christmas miracle!”

* * *

 

The white world outside was silken and silent, pale light filtering into the almost desolate dining room. It was well past midnight, and the room’s only occupant sat, back against the window, the glow of a screen harsh against the soft moonlight.

Viktor’s eyes had begun to burn and itch so he closed the laptop and straightened up, wincing. He’d been sitting at a funny angle, windowsill pressing into his spine, neck bent as he’d squinted over and over again at videos of Yuuri’s more recent performances. In a way, he’d been thinking, being a coach was just as taxing as being the athlete (in a different way, of course.) It was fulfilling in a different way too, but – Viktor thought of Yuuri, of his rosy exhaustion and simmering energy. He thought of Yuuri’s expression after he finished a skate, eyes alive and proud as they sought Viktor’s own.

There was the sound of footsteps, and then Yuuri was standing in the doorway, wearing rumpled pyjamas and a drowsy frown.

“Viktor?” Yuuri pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. “What are you doing in here?”

Viktor patted the floor beside him. “Some important research.” He doesn't add 'I didn't want to wake you.'

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “But it’s so late!” He protested, abruptly awake with indignity.

“And yet here you are.” He grins, gesturing towards the clock on the wall before holding his arms out. Unsure, Yuuri seemed to twist on the spot before sliding down besides Viktor in resignation.

Humming softly, Viktor wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s waist; he wasn’t sure of the science behind it, but Yuuri was somehow impossibly softer and more endearing after sleep. His breathing was even and level against Viktor’s shoulder, his hair tickling Viktor’s chin. Viktor wonders how he got so lucky.

“We’re leaving for Barcelona tomorrow.” Yuuri states, as if this was new information.

“We are.” Viktor agrees, slightly distracted by the way Yuuri’s fingers are tracing lazy patterns over his thigh.

“And after that, we’ll-” He falters, and his fingers pause over Viktor’s knee.

Viktor nudges Yuuri’s ribs. “Hmm?” He doesn’t see Yuuri bite his lip, eyes downcast. “After that we’ll what?”

Yuuri props his face up towards Viktor and smiles. He shifts, removing Viktor’s hand from his waist and wrapping his own fingers through his. “Mm. I’m tired. Let’s go back to bed.” He stands, pulling Viktor up with him.

Back in Yuuri’s room, it’s cold. They bury themselves underneath blankets and each other, all thoughts that weren’t about sleep pushed out and onto the floor. Yuuri’s eyes flutter closed first, as he lies sandwiched between Viktor and the wall: Viktor thinks, maybe, this is too much for him. Yuuri’s hair (so, so soft,) the way Yuuri’s hands are curled against his chest as if they’re cradling something precious. One of Viktor’s arms is trapped awkwardly under Yuuri’s head - it’s a long time before Viktor falls asleep.

* * *

 

“Phichit!” Yuuri tries in vain to wrestle the phone away, but Phichit’s grin only widens as he yanks it away from Yuuri’s grasp.

“Yuuri, you don’t understand! Everyone needs to see our pictures from Detroit!” Phichit flicks through the album app, giggling and flashing the screen towards Chris and Yurio. Chris observed with mild interest, but Yurio leaned across the table with a look of malicious delight as Phichit revealed some choice photos of Yuuri tripping backwards off of his own bed. Yuuri slumped back against the booth in defeat.

Viktor smiled over his wine glass from his seat opposite Celestino, who was (slightly drunkenly) recounting tales of his own days in the rink. He gestured wildly whenever he remembered something particularly exciting, and at one point flung his arm out so vigorously that he nearly knocked Yuuri’s glasses off. Viktor couldn’t supress a laugh as Yuuri blanched, then edged away, clutching his lemonade and sending worried glances towards Viktor.

“You’re staring, again.” Chris leans in reproachfully, tapping Viktor’s wrist.

“Hmm? Sorry, what did you say?” Viktor averts his eyes from where Yuuri is laughing at a joke Yurio told. 

Chris laughs warmly, popping an olive into his mouth. “And you’re not even aware of it!”

“Don’t tease an old man like that.” Viktor sings, snatching the plate of appetizers.

“What? You’re not old! God, if you say you’re old, that makes _me_ old too!” Chris places a hand over his chest dramatically, the other clutching his hair.

“What’s this? Old? Is Viktor talking about his bald spot?” Yuuri turns around, a mischievous smile on his face. 

Viktor pulls a face. “Don’t you start. I do _not_ have a balding spot”

“It’s okay, I’ll still love you when you’re bald and wrinkly.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor croons over the table. Yurio begins to make horribly realistic retching noises.

It still amazed Viktor, to see how Yuuri opened up when surrounded by friends and food, the pressure of the Finals still over a day away. His face flushed with laughter, inner anxieties pushed out and out until they were nowhere to be seen, and Viktor thought the way he waved over his plate when Viktor nudged his foot under the table was adorable. Later, he’s still giggling on the walk back to the hotel, watching Phichit trying in vain to make Yurio wear a coat over his thin leopard-print jacket.  

(“Where did you even _buy_ that coat, that pattern shouldn’t even be _legal_ \- “

“Yurio, nothing will cramp your style quite like a runny nose and an awful headache, so just- “)

* * *

 

Perhaps in a different life, Viktor would never have known what it’s like to wake up at 6 o’clock every single morning, without fail, and become accustomed to the way the world looks bleached white and blue at sunrise; a crisp, quiet world that seems almost unreal in the way it shines. His feet would be free of the permanent scars and blemishes that remained regardless of the price Viktor had paid for medical creams, before accepting the fact that the scarring was a small price to pay for what he received in exchange. He still inhales shakily, sometimes, when it’s the middle of the night and the future looms menacingly above his chest, or when his jumps aren’t landed completely perfectly.

He doesn’t wish for a different life, anymore. Raucous laughter echoes around his old home rink as Mila successfully hoists Georgi into a lift, hands tucked securely under his armpits; his look of shock remaining even after she relinquishes him in order to skate gleefully over to her female rink mates. Viktor fumbles with his skate guards, Yurio tutting darkly to his left, and to the right Yuuri’s mouth opens in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.

“I can’t even imagine what the female division is like.” Yuuri breathes out in horror after a few moments, eyes still trained on Mila, who was now re-applying lipstick.

Viktor straightens up. “You don’t want to. It’s a bloodbath to even get to the finals.”

“Yeah,” Yurio mutters darkly. “You do _not_ want to get on Mila’s bad side before a competition.”

Yuuri blinks, his interest piqued. “Oh? What did you do, Yurio?”

The ice is completely smooth, and Yurio’s skates cut cleanly across the polished surface as he pushes away from the barrier. “Nothing! She just overreacts!” He yells over his shoulder as he does a warm up lap, flipping a middle finger towards Mila, who blows him a kiss in return.

“He definitely said something, I bet he- Oh, good morning, Coach Yakov.” Yuuri fumbles over his words slightly as Yakov walks towards them, and Viktor wonders if he should tell Yuuri that he won Yakov’s respect a long time ago.

“Yes, good morning. Today, you two are focusing on Yuuri’s program, yes? Vitya, I’ll see to you this evening- don’t give me that look, this was your plan in the first place- but not until Lilia has seen to Yuri, so don’t bother coming until- “

“-5 o’clock, yes, I remember.” Viktor ushers Yuuri onto the rink, “Well, we have some important aspects of Yuuri’s program to work on, so if you’ll excuse us.”

“I don’t think he recalls having that exact same conversation yesterday.” Viktor admits when they’re out of earshot. Yuuri laughs into his hand.

Much, much later, Viktor winces as he pulls off his shoes: the new leather had been rubbing against a particularly painful swelling above his ankle. Checking the time on his phone, he sees it’s well past 8 o’clock.

“Yuuri?” He closes the front door and locks it, turning round only to see Yuuri already standing in the hallway, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, wearing tracksuit bottoms with one of Viktor’s old hoodies.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Yuuri replies before turning back into the kitchen. “I saved you some food.”

Viktor hangs his coat up and dumps his gym bag on the floor, following Yuuri into the warm light. His St. Petersburg apartment looks different, now. Yuuri leaves notes and reminders on the fridge, accompanying photos pinned up by magnets which feature various capital cities. There’s a growing pile of laundry by the basket. He remembers to open the curtains before he leaves for his morning run. He rarely orders takeaway anymore.

The hoodie hangs loosely around Yuuri’s waist as he fiddles with the gas stove, reheating spaghetti bolognaise in a blue ceramic saucepan, a housewarming present from Minako.

Viktor is exhausted. He walks up to Yuuri and wraps his arms around his small waist, head propped over Yuuri’s shoulder. He’d just showered – the strands of hair that tickled Viktor’s forehead were damp and smelt of shampoo.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Yuuri stirs absently, leaning backwards. “How was practice?”

“It went well. Yakov was in a good mood – until Yurio decided to barge in and demand Yakov drove him back before a lack of sleep damaged his chance at the gold medal.”

Yuuri cracked a smile, rotating against the counter until he was facing Viktor. “Did Yakov give in?”

“Yes, of course.” Viktor leant down, moving a hand to cradle Yuuri’s head. “He always does.”

Yuuri closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Viktor’s softly, his arms coming up to loop around his neck. Viktor wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this, slow movements, Viktor tracing the taut skin above Yuuri’s hipbone.

Then the smell of the bolognaise, salty and tomato-y, filled the space between them, and Viktor’s stomach growled, loudly. Yuuri snorted, twisting to turn off the gas. Viktor tried to turn him back around, but Yuuri was stubborn, moving to spoon the pasta onto a plate.

“It wouldn’t be very fun for me if you fainted from hunger while we were in the middle of something.” Yuuri said sincerely, pushing the meal towards Viktor.

“Yuuri!” Viktor protested, but Yuuri just laughed, kissing him on the cheek before walking over to the table.

An array of documents and forms were scattered over the surface, and Yuuri arranged them in a pile haphazardly. “I was trying to organise everything.” Yuuri explained as Viktor watched with a raised eyebrow.

“Clearly you’ve done a great job.” Viktor grinned, and began twirling spaghetti around his chopsticks. (Some habits had been exchanged between the two of them, and had stuck.)

Yuuri rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “You can help me with them when you’re done.” He pauses. “Unless you’re too tired. You were back much later than usual tonight.”

“Nationals are coming up, and I did take nearly a year off.” Viktor shrugged, not looking up from his plate. Yuuri didn’t respond to this, but as soon as the chopsticks were set down, he stood up, grabbing Viktor’s hand and pulling him over to the sofa. Then there was a warm hand on Viktor’s chest, and he was pushed onto the cushions, Yuuri planting himself firmly on his lap.

Viktor blinked, hands coming to rest on Yuuri’s thighs.

“You’re worried.” Yuuri stated.

“Yes.”

“But you’re okay.”

“Yes.” Yuuri’s skin was soft beneath him; the concern in his brown eyes changing into something Viktor didn’t have a word for. The night was quiet, and they had to be awake by sunrise the next day. His fingers hooked around the drawstring of Yuuri’s hoodie, tugging him forwards. “That’s a silly question.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this mainly to get a feel of Yuuri & Viktor's relationship and how they interact with other characters when they're together, so I'm sorry if it seemed to jump around a bit or the timings were hard to understand!
> 
> I just love all the relationships between the characters in yoi so I wanted to write a little bit of that too (Mila and Yurio especially)
> 
> But yeah, I'd love to write more for this pairing so if you have any ideas please tell me!! I'm rubbish at thinking of interesting plots (which is evident lol)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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